Haunted
by FourthHallow
Summary: The war is over, yet, the Chosen One has never been so depressed before. Someone is missing, and he can't do anything about it.  Canon compliant.


There he was, The Chosen One, sitting once more in headmaster's office. He could hear soft murmur around him. He chose to ignore those portraits, adorning walls. Person he wanted to talk to wasn't there. It dawned him only next morning that one headmaster was missing. At first he thought he simply was too tired to see it. After defeating Voldemort, it would be very likely just his tiredness. But it wasn't. He looked and looked, asked other portraits if they've seen him... Nothing.

Severus Snape was dead.

There was no doubt in that. Now, after the battle, Harry didn't feel joy. Not a glimpse of happiness for defeating the Dark Lord. There were to many victims, to many sacrifices. Whenever he would close his eyes, he would see his dead friends and a tear would escape from his eye.

Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevey... And, in the end, pitch black eyes of the potion master, asking to look at them. He did. And Snape's death was bothering him most. How could've he been so blind not to see the truth behind the Snape's hatred? That memory in the fifth year... That could've been enough for Harry to figure out the true nature of professor's feelings. But he didn't figure out. He trusted that Snape was a murderer. How could've he? Dumbledore always trusted him... Always...

Overwhelmed with emotions that once again started to rise on the surface, Harry remembered anew those memories Snape gave him. With his last dying breath he was, once again, saving Harry Potter, the Chosen One. From the first year, he was always there for him. And how did he return? Attacking him in his third year, ignoring the fact that Snape only came to save them. Not that there was something from what they needed to be saved, but how could anyone know that Harry's godfather was not the murderer? And numerous insults, disrespect, hate...

Harry felt tired. He could still see Snape's angry face, wand pointed at Sirius Black. It was so much than a hatred caused by bullying, and, once again, the Chosen One was unable to see it. Always there. Protecting him. Risking his life every day to save someone he hated. Harry felt a tear rolling down is cheek. Snape was mad because he thought that it was Black that caused the death of the only person he ever loved, Lily Evans.

»Harry?«

Oh, he recognized that voice. How could've he ever not trusted that voice? How could've he ever doubt in a statment said by no other than Albus Dumbledore? He trusted Snape, he always said that. And nor Harry, nor Harry's friends trusted Snape as they should've.

»Headmaster?« Harry's voice was trembeling.

»My dear boy...« For the first time in his life, Albus Dumbledore was unable to say anything soothing. He wanted to calm his favourite student, such a talented young wizard, but he was at loss with words. Was Harry blaming him for something? Because he would have right to do so. Even as a portrait, Dumbledore was haunted with memories. When the sounds of battle came to him, the only thing that echoed in his head was Snape's voice. _»You've been raising him like a pig for slaughter!« _Not in once moment has he doubted that Snape will survive and get his reward for being so loyal to light. But he never came back. He never returned. His body was found in the Shriecking Shack, the place he loathed so much from his student's days.

»Where is he?« Harry stuttered through sobs, unable to control his feelings.

Dumbledore's portrait didn't need any explanations who was Harry talking about. And, for the first time, Dumbledore felt helpless. He could not offer kind words when he was also in need for them. Even when he was meant to die, he still had hope. Hope that Snape will not fail. And he did not. Indeed, he followed the commands of his real master, even after that master ended his life.

»I don't know, my dear boy...« Was it possible for a portrait to cry? »It's probably because of Voldemort that his portrait is not here. As you know, everyone thought he became a headmaster on Voldemort's command.«

The tears continued streaming from green eyes, eyes that Severus Snape adored so much.

»Perhaps...« Blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore twinkled, just like when he was alive. »Harry, perhaps you could talk to the Ministry?«

Harry lifted his gaze and stared at the portrait, his eyes now red from crying.

»...Ministry?« He asked, his voice still shaken.

»Yes, Harry. They could arrange Severus' portrait to be made.«

Dumbledore couldn't hide a smile when the boy rushed out of the office, eager to get to the Ministry as soon as possible.

Two years have passed. There was no resting place for Severus Snape. No matter how much everyone adored The-Boy-Who-Lived, no one trusted his words when he claimed Snape was innocent. Even worse. In Daily Prophet there was a list of dead or captured Death Eaters. Their names were ranked by crimes they've commited. Harry started crying when he saw the first name on the list. How could've they all ignore him, think Snape was a murderer?

Once again, the Chosen One found himself sitting in headmaster's office, sobbing quietly.

»Sometimes the memory is strong enough for someone to keep living.« Portrait's voice echoed through the room with the same power as the real voice of Albus Dumbledore.

»Sometimes the memory is not enough to justify someone's doings!« Harry yelled at the dead headmaster. He was shaking from anger and sadness. After he spent hours trying to convince those bastards at the Ministry that Snape was at their side, he was here, talking to Dumbledore again. There was no hope. Justice will never be done. And Harry's sleep will still be disturbed with Snape's final moments...

»Real Gryffindor... Always for the justice.« Dumbledore's portrait let a small smile appear on his lips. »Memories are strong, Harry, as you might've found out till now.«

Harry's eyes fell on the Pensieve. Dumbledore noticed.

»Severus Snape carried the memory of your mother for eighteen years, Harry. It was memories that helped him through his darkest hours. And, I believe, memories, that he gave you, saved the world.«

When Harry stayed silent, his gaze still fixed upon a Pensieve, Dumbledore started to feel helpless once again. Still, he continued.

»My dear boy, Severus was a brave man. A person worth admiring... and respect. Which you, sadly, never gave.«

Harry sniffed. Those words were true. He was no better than his father. Lazy, arrogant... Same as his father, strutting the corridors... Harry could almost here Snape's voice saying those words. How much he would give just to hear that soft, threatening voice once more...

»Why do you care so much about him now?« Dumbledore looked sad, and, above all, confused.

»You don't understand...« Harry whispered.

»Then explain it to me, Harry.« The voice of former headmaster was calm, full of sympathy. Or at least that's how it sounded like.

»I can't sleep«, answered Harry honestly.

Only now did Dumbledore's portrait trully look at The-Boy-Who-Lived. His eyes were bloodshot, his body thin and his black hair messier than usuall. He looked even worse than right after defeating Voldemort.

»Revenge.« Harry closed his eyes, fidgeting.

»Revenge? Harry, what do you mean?« Portrait sounded concerned with Harry's answer.

»It's Snape revenge, professor. For every word I said to him with despise, for every his order I did not obey, for every his word I did not trust.« A tear slided down and Harry made no effort to wipe it away.

»Harry, I'm afraid I still don't understand.« Dumbledore's portrait started thinking what could've made Harry say that. Some kind of dark magic that just got into his student, bringing despair? The effect of whatever was torturing the boy was simmilar to effects of the Dementors, who were almost all destroyed after the Final Battle. But Harry's voice stopped his thoughts at once.

»I'm living the same nightmare he was living since my mother stopped speaking to him.« Harry swalowed, trying to find the right words. »Not only do I see his last moments. Worse than that. It's haunting me, headmaster!« With this words, Harry Potter felt on his knees, torn apart.

»They're always there, sir...« He contined, his breathing labored. »Always.«

»Is there something you wish to tell me, Harry?« But there was no responce from the Chosen One.

That was the last time Albus Dumbledore's portrait saw his favourite student. After Harry said those words, he rushed out of the office, never to be seen at Hogwarts again.

Dark eyes of Severus Snape never left his dreams. They even appeared when he was awake. They were destroying him. Did Snape feel the same way every time he looked at Harry? He couldn't tell. But it was painful. It hurt. He couldn't explain it to his wife, Ginny. How could he? She wouldn't understand... Even when Harry's first child has been born, there was still no relief. No matter how much Harry loved his son James, Snape's eyes were still there reminding him of those terrible events during the Battle of Hogwarts. In the reflection of a mirror, in the dark corner of his house, in every shadow around him, everywhere.

When Harry's other son has been born, he thought he found a cure for his despair. He wanted to name his son Severus. He knew that from the moment he saw his child's eyes. Green, just like his. Just like his mothers. And Harry knew what to do.

It would be decent to let other students in Hogwarts know how Severus Snape was not a Death Eater when he died. That he stopped working for the Dark Lord years and years before his death. That Severus Snape alone was the reason they were there, attending freely that school like Tom Riddle never even existed. Not Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Severus Snape, the bravest man Harry ever knew.

Ginny protested. Of course she had. Even she was suspicious on Snape's true loyalities. But Harry never gave up. Severus shall be the name of his second son, even if he had to trick his wife. And so he did. The child of Harry Potter bared Severus' name right after his first, Albus.

As Harry was waving to his son, Albus Severus Potter, sitting on Hogwarts Express, he felt a hint of relief. The sole knowing that the justice has somehow in the end been done was more than satisfying. It was a pure pleasure.

There were still nights when The-Boy-Who-Lived would wake up covered in sweat, screaming. Those nightmares were still there as a reminder of Severus Snape.

Guilt never ceased completly.

Those eyes, like tunnels, still invaded his dreams.


End file.
